Not Like The Movies
by JustTellHer
Summary: Because his life isn't a movie, but he desperately wishes it was. Inspired by "If This Were a Movie" by Taylor Swift. T for language and dark thoughts.


**A/N: Set during the summer before Truth or Consequences, after they learn of Ziva's supposed death. Inspired by listening to the song "If This Was a Movie" by Taylor Swift too much on repeat. Basically, this is just a short look into Tony's head when he hears Ziva is gone. Because it must have been worse than what we saw if he wanted to go on a suicide mission to kill Saleem. Hope you enjoy.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or the rights to songs by Taylor Swift. Or the rights to any of the movies mentioned in this story.  
><strong>

_The plane roars to life, and their fearless leader runs on, yelling at the pilots to begin takeoff. It sends a deep chill of panic through him when he realizes that she's not getting on the plane, and one look to Gibbs makes his stomach drop-she's not coming back with them. No, this is not okay, not okay at all. He knows that everything has been bad between them, well complete shit if he's honest, but her running back to Israel is not the answer. Before he's aware of what he's doing, his harness is off and he's moving toward the closed door. Gibbs is yelling, McGee is looking on in shock at his monumental disregard for his safety as the plane picks up speed, but he's not thinking straight, all he can think of is her and how this can't be the way they end this...this...partnership between them. Then the plane takes a steep, harsh ascent, and he's falling backwards and the world goes black._

He blinks into the darkness. Red, glowing numbers tell him it's only half past two. He lets out a small sigh, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and resting his head in his hands. He can't seem to sleep anymore. Whenever he manages to drift off, she's right there in his mind, standing on that damn tarmac watching the plane leave, and he's just letting her go. Just letting her stay in that desert, not fighting hard enough to keep her.

It's the regret that's killing him. The hundred little instances leading up to their furious implosion that he could have changed so that maybe, just maybe, everything would have worked out differently. What he could have said, what he should have said, to make her stay, to make her see his side of the story.

With a groan, he heaves his body off his bed, shuffling his feet in the direction of his kitchen. Pulling a random bottle from his cabinet, he takes a large swig, not caring to bother with a glass; after all, it will all be gone by morning anyway so what's the point. Sinking onto his couch, he chuckles to himself. It wasn't too long ago, he was doing the same thing on the floor of an autopsy room. She had told him then that 'nothing was inevitable', but she was so wrong. After all, how was it avoidable that he wouldn't drink himself into a stupor after she left? It was the only way he ever got any sleep anymore. He takes another gulp...and now that she was really gone, in a forever, see you on the other side, kind of sense...another gulp...well...there was just no point in not drinking.

Briefly, he contemplates the wall across from him, stacked with hundreds of DVD cases. Perhaps, he could lose himself in a good film. Maybe some Bogey, a classic, or even a slasher film. He drags himself to the shelving, and grabs the first case he finds. The Holiday. One of the chick flicks he had been trying to convince Ziva to watch just this past winter, saying she needed more pop culture exposure. Girls switch house, boys meet girls and fall in love. Some angst ensues, but then of course, it ends with everyone together. He tossed the case over his shoulder. Definitely not. Blindly, he picks up another case. Breakfast At Tiffanys.Guy meets eccentric girl who doesn't believe in love. They fall in love. They split apart, but then get back together in the rain. Dammit, his DVD collection was conspiring against him. Growling in frustation, another DVD case flies behind his shoulder, and he wrenches another from the shelf. The Notebook.What the hell? Did he not own one damn movie that wasn't bought for her or a romance?

Damn Hollywood, he chucks the case across the room with such force that it hits the opposite wall and pops open, expelling the disc to the floor with a clang.

The soft sound of footsteps in the outside hallway makes him pause in the destruction of his DVD collection. Laughter meets his ears as the couple who live next to him drunkenly giggle and stagger into their apartment-their Friday night an apparent success. He can't help it, but for a split second he thinks maybe it is her walking down the hallway, coming over to watch a movie in their usual tradition. His mind assaults him with images from weekend and weekday nights spent in this very room: eating take-out, explaining idioms that she could never get right, plotting fake revenge on McGee for their fictional representation.

He throws himself back onto the couch and drags a hand over his face. He had to snap out of it. People died all the time. Hell, he was in the business of investigating death for God's sake. And it wasn't like he hadn't lost a partner before. He had to stop this craziness. She was gone, for good, wasn't coming back ever. He had to stop, stop accidentally calling her 5 times a day because he hoped she might answer, stop ending up on her street next to her now destroyed apartment; he had to stop acting like she was going to magically renter his life. She was dead, sunk in a ship, in the middle of an ocean, gone. He was pacing the living room now.

His mind offers up cinematic images, her lifeless bloated body floating, suspended in blue-green water, making his stomach churn. She was dead. The world no longer held her laughter, that smile that did things to his heart rhythm he wasn't quite ready to analyze. She was never going to sit on his couch again, never going to look at him with those chocolate brown eyes that always said too much, never argue with him over take-out options or tease him for dating too many women or having too much hair. She was never coming back. He takes another swig of the now much lighter bottle.

He's always loved movies. Believed they could really teach people things; believed that they mirrored the human experience. But dammit, the movies had lied. If they were true, this would never have happened. He would have made it off that plane. He would have drug her, well as much as one could drag an unwilling ninja, fought to get her back on that plane. He would have never left her; he would have stayed in Israel. If films told the truth, she would have already been back here by now, mad as hell at him, but dear God, he would take another fifty years of her intense hatred aimed at him rather than not have her in the world. But no, Hepburn, Carey Grant, even Cameron Diaz, they had all lied. He stumbles toward the shelving, ripping the DVDs from the shelves with an anguished groan. They were all lies. Cases fly across the room, crashing into his glass coffee table, and breaking one of the more fragile vases on his end table. His life wasn't a movie, and she wasn't going to show up at his door again, ever. And they would never get a chance to fix this, never get a chance to work their way out of the insane collision they had rushed headlong into. And it was so unfair.

He squeezes his eyes shut and allows his head to fall forward against the now empty shelves. He takes another gulp from the bottle. He just wants her back. He slides down to the floor. He should have fought harder, he should have got off that plane, instead of allowing her to push him away. She would still be here if he'd fought harder instead of letting their stubborn pride and anger get in the way. He rubs his eyes viciously, wishing to think about anything else, but it was pointless, all he can see is her. Violently, he chugs the rest of the bottle and sends it flying across the room, waiting for the haze of the liquor to drown out her face.

The numbness grows, and her internal image becomes fuzzy. Slumping against the shelves, he drifts into oblivion muttering a final plea to the darkness.

"Please come back..."

When McGee calls him in the morning, he'll awaken to a searing pain behind his eyes and another day of bleak words and cases he can barely remember, washed down by another bottle in the middle of the night. After all, the world dimmed that day on that plane when he left her there, and the day he learned of her death it went pitch black; and he's fast giving up hope that the color is ever going to return. She took all of it when she left. There's nothing left to see in this film, it's become pointless, and he's starting to grow desperate for the final fade to black.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please review. :) You should also listen to the song, "If This Were A Movie" by Taylor Swift, it's beautiful. :)  
><strong>


End file.
